A Tragic Princess Redefined By Scale Poem by Raj Dronamraju

There is a god her name is Maude
And she is prayed to on Saturday nights
The peanuts are free for the drinkers to eat
They get scattered on the counter on Saturday nights

So what? ….Love was prearranged and not entered into by choice
On a Saturday night with the pent up demands of a week at work
They move with the urgency of organisms that mate then immediately die

Is it a tragedy to be behind high walls and served food on golden vessels?
The older women here, they like to tell each other sad stories
They don't know any more than those who lose themselves on Saturday nights
But the Saturday night people do not suffer the illness of the self-conscious

The lap of luxury does not make a very tragic setting for a fable unless the people who will read this fable do not have a sense of scale
These readers are children
A better setting would be the long ride home, the wee hours of Sunday morning

It's gray like the network television channels signing off for the evening
Now you are tired and sick and the good times have been forcefully ejected in heaves over a filthy service station toilet
There is only sleep to come and the realization of leisure time wasted in pursuit of that which disappears immediately upon being recognized